brick by brick
by slvtherxn
Summary: Mickey's head whipped around to find the source of the voice, and he gagged when he found it. An older man (if he had to guess, he'd say 50, but he was shit at guessing) had a redheaded twink pressed up against the wall of the club. The kid was as limp and loose as a ragdoll, and his head lolled to one side, only halfway conscious.
1. Chapter 1

Mickey was having a rough night. Rough week, more like it. Month? He didn't know if it could even be considered that if his whole life seemed fucking rough. His job was shitty, but it was a job, the rent seemed like it was always due, and the club he worked at was full of sleazy assholes almost all the time (he wasn't even allowed to turn them away for being douchebags, which would've made it better).

He was almost always immensely grateful when his shift ended and he could climb into his car. All he wanted to do was go home and crawl into bed. Just as he was thinking about how he couldn't wait to get home, he paused, one hand still halfway turning the steering wheel.

"Come on, baby, I'll take you home, I promise."

Mickey's head whipped around to find the source of the voice, and he almost gagged when he found it. An older man (if he had to guess, he'd say 50, but he was shit at guessing) had a redheaded twink pressed up against the wall of the club.

The kid was as limp and loose as a ragdoll, and his head lolled to one side, only halfway conscious. Mickey briefly recognized him as someone who worked in the club, but he couldn't for the life of him remember his name, or even if he stripped or bartended. From his long limbs, shiny hair, and pretty, boyish features, Mickey pegged him as stripper.

He turned his attention back to the exchange, just long enough to see the older man groping the redhead, purring something nasty in his ear.

His finger traced down the twink's jawline, the other hand cupping the bulge in his pants, and Mickey had seen enough. Maybe it was because of his shit day, and the fact that he was a little more on edge than usual, or maybe it was that he needed some good karma, but he groaned to himself, and took the key out of his car, stomping over to the side of the club.

"Off." He gestured to the man's hands. The older man pulled the redhead closer to him,  
"Excuse me? Ian's coming home with me, aren't you, sweetheart?"

The redhead (Ian) furrowed his brow, and lolled his head the other direction.  
"I g'tta go home," he slurred, slid back against the wall.  
"I'll get you home," the man purred, and Mickey physically stopped himself from gagging.

No way was he going to let that man put Ian in his stupidly expensive car.

He shot a glance to Ian, who looked mildly confused, yet somehow sweet. He was sure this wasn't an unusual thing. Ian had that thing that men liked, that sweet, boyish, pretty look. His face was welcoming, his eyes were shiny, and he was tall, lean in most places and muscular in others. If they'd met in any other situation, Mickey might've been the one to take him home.

"Fuck no, you won't. Get off 'em," Mickey stepped up to the man, who had a few inches on him, but not enough for Mickey to back down.

The man seemed to take this as a challenge, and stepped closer to Ian, so Mickey shifted his wait to one foot, stepped back and punched him directly in the nose.

Unsurprisingly, he didn't put up a fight. The man stumbled backwards, his hands letting go of Ian and flying up to cover his nose, which was dripping satisfying drops of blood on the concrete. Ian slumped back against the wall, his expression mildly surprised.

"Don't fuckin' touch him," Mickey grumbled, and the man glared at the both of them.

"Take him," he replied, "Just a cheap whore, anyways. Can't wash that off. See you on Friday, Ian."

With that, he was gone, and Mickey made the sickening mental note that this guy was a regular of Ian's.

"Ian, hey. You want a ride home?" He asked, and Ian nodded his head, gave a sloppy, lopsided grin that went straight to Mickey's heart. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"Yeah. I g'tta go home," the redhead repeated, nodding. His smile was sweet, and it met his eyes, and Mickey never wanted to wipe that look off his face.

"Alright, Ian, c'mon." When he stepped towards his car, Ian at least seemed to get the hint, and stumbled after him.

"You know where you live?" Mickey asked, and slung Ian's arm around his neck, walking him to his rundown car. It was shabbier than the other man's, but at least he was actually going to take him home. Fuck knows what could've happened to Ian in his current state. He should've give a shit, but he did.

"S'in m'phone," Ian replied, and Mickey made his second sickening mental note, that Ian got this fucked up on the regular.

He nodded, and opened the door for Ian, who slid into the front seat, his lanky limbs filling up the small car effectively. Getting into the drivers side, Mickey started the car back up, looking over at Ian.

"You gonna buckle up?" He asked, and Ian's stupid smile returned as he grasped at the seatbelt. After several unsuccessful tries, Mickey leant across the console, and grabbed the belt for him. His heart stopped momentarily as his face was inches from Ian's stupid, drunken, adorable grin. How someone could turn into an angel just by smiling, he didn't know. With a shaky exhale, he buckled Ian in, sitting back up in his seat.

"Wha's your name?" Ian tilted his head to the left, loose and lanky again, and Mickey rolled his eyes.

"Mickey," he told him, "Give me your phone so I can get you home." Ian passed it over, and Mickey opened it- the fuck kinda person didn't keep a lock on their phone?- quickly finding the note labeled 'ADDRESS'. Clever. It was reasonably close, he noted, and he kept Ian's phone open just in case he forgot the complex number.

Glancing over at Ian again, the redhead's eyes were closed, and his head was leant back against the seat. Mickey felt like a fucking idiot for wanting to put his mouth all over that pale skin.

"Yo, if you're gonna puke, tell me, and I'll pull over," he told him instead, and Ian peeked one eye open. He smiled at Mickey, and Mickey internally cursed him.

"Okay," Ian replied, "M'good now, though."

Mickey nodded, and pulled out of the shithole parking lot. He watched Ian more than the road as he drove. It might've been unsafe, but Ian had a face that was hard to pull his eyes from.

Ian's complex wasn't far away, so they were there pretty quick. He didn't know if he was happy or sad to see him go. Part of him was just glad Ian got home safe, but the other part of him wanted to spend just a couple minutes longer in the car with Ian next to him.

"You're home," Mickey said, pulling up outside of the complex. "You know which one it is, right?"

"Wha's it say on m'phone?" Ian asked, and Mickey shook his head in disbelief.

"4C," he told him, and Ian nodded.

"Okay," he replied, unbuckling his own seatbelt, and opening the door.

He didn't get out just yet, leaning over the console, and placing a sloppy kiss on Mickey's cheek. Mickey froze, cheeks flushing rapidly.

"Thanks for th'ride," Ian said, pulling a key from the pocket of his sweatpants. He slid out of Mickey's car.

"You're welcome, don't worry about it," Mickey mumbled, and watched Ian walk to the front door, making sure he got in the complex okay.

He was so fucked.


	2. Chapter 2

Mickey's next day at work was slightly better. It may have been only because he had Ian to look forward to, since if last night was any indication of what Ian was like, he would definitely need a ride again.

He actually booted a couple guys just for being douchebags- even if it was against the rules- just because he didn't want them in there. The club was sleazy enough without those assholes inside.

On his way out, before he got into his car, despite his happiness to be going home, he looked around the back of the club for fucked up, smiling redheads.

This time, instead of being fondled by an old man, Ian was sitting criss-crossed on the curb, a lit cigarette in his mouth. His eyes were closed, and his head was tilted back. Mickey watched him take a drag, watched the smoke leave his lips in long, twisting exhales.

Finally, Mickey worked up the courage to go sit next to Ian on the curb, pulling a cigarette of his own out. He knew he was fucked when Ian gave him that pretty smile again.

"Hi," Ian said. "Y'look familiar," he added, his head doing that thing where it lolled to the side again. It was cute, and a clear indication that whatever he was on last night, he was on it again. Mickey pegged it as alcohol, and probably coke. He wasn't sure.

Mickey realized he was staring- kid was so pretty, he couldn't help it- before he nodded, and answered, "Yeah, I drove you home last night." 

Ian nodded his head, took another drag from his cigarette, his eyes closing as he did so. "Sorry," he told Mickey, opening his eyes after he exhaled, "Don't remember e'rybody that takes m'home."

Mickey looked slightly offended for a second, at the implication that he was one of Ian's clients. "Not like that, Red," he told him, and Ian smiled again, "I just drove you home. To your apartment."

Ian nodded again, head rocking to one side again, his hands shaking slightly as he smoked. Definitely coke. "Oh. S'nice of you."

Mickey rolled his eyes, and the two of them smoked in silence for a little. When Ian finished his cigarette, Mickey stomped his out as well. "You want a ride home?" He asked, and Ian looked up at him, smiling prettily, beautifically up at Mickey. It went straight to his gut.

"Mmm," Ian hummed, stumbling to his feet, rocking back and forth slightly. "I g'tta get home."

Recognizing that statement, Mickey stood as well, offering his arm to Ian just in case he wanted the support. Not because he cared, or anything, just to keep him from falling on his face.

"I'll get you home," he promised, but cringed slightly when it reminded him of that guy's words from last night.

Ian took his arm, and stumbled after Mickey, unsteady on his feet. "Home," he repeated, "Address is in m'phone." 

Mickey nodded his head, "I remember," and opened his car door for Ian, sitting him in the passenger seat. Walking around, he slid in the front, and instinctively reached over to buckle Ian in. Ian apparently liked that, as the lopsided smile was back. Mickey partially wished it would go away- he'd never met a person who looked so much like an angel when they smiled. He usually didn't meet people he wanted to see more than once, either, and he had clearly approached Ian a second time.

"Don't puke in my car," he warned, and Ian gave a tiny laugh, one that made Mickey's heart warm.

"Not gonna," Ian agreed, closing his eyes. He was asleep within minutes, and stayed asleep even when Mickey parked outside his apartment. Mickey didn't want to wake him, as he looked so peaceful and calm, but it was past four in the morning, and he needed to get home.

"Ian," he said gently, reaching over to touch his shoulder. "We're here, c'mon. You gotta wake up."

Ian blinked his eyes open, swaying where he sat. "Whe'am I?" He mumbled, his nap clearly not having sobered him up at all.

"Uh, I drove you home," Mickey said, gestured to the complex in front of him. "You gonna be okay to get in and stuff?"

Ian smiled, nodding his head. He unbuckled his seatbelt, this time leaning over and kissing Mickey's cheek before he opened the door. "S'nice of you," he said, "Thanks, 'n stuff." He got out, and stumbled to the front door.

Mickey watched him for a second, making sure he got in okay, before he sighed, and pulled away from the complex. He couldn't get Ian out of his mind, spend the whole ride home wondering what he was like when he was sober.

He was just pulling in his driveway when he realized Ian left his phone on the center console. Seemed like the world finally gave him some good karma, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

Mickey half contemplated turning around and returning Ian's phone right then. But he soon saw the phone for what it was- a chance to see Ian sober. In the daylight.

He tucked the phone into his pocket, and walked the short walk up his front porch steps, where his sister was lounging on the couch inside, eating a plate of crackers and cheese. He rolled his eyes so far back it hurt.

"It's five am, Mands, go to bed," he told her, shutting the door behind him. She shrugged and set her plate down, her eye roll mirroring his own. It was a bit eerie.

"I like to be up when you come home," she replied, and he raised one eyebrow, flopping beside her on the couch. He shoved her lightly to reach for the cheese, and she shoved him right back.

"You drive him home again?" Mandy asked after a minute, a light smirk tugging up one corner of her lips. She drilled Mickey relentlessly about it yesterday, and he was starting to regret telling her anything.

"Yeah. He didn't remember the first time." Mickey shrugged. It wasn't a big deal, he guessed, as it wasn't like he expected Ian to remember it all their interactions had been while he was blackout drunk and coked out.

"Rough," Mandy commented, covered up her yawn with one hand, "Maybe you should talk to him at the beginning of his shift instead of the end."

Mickey rolled his eyes. It was a decent idea, sure, but he wasn't about to admit to wanting to see Ian. Or talk to him. Despite working at a gay bar, and being out to most people who knew him, he was still in a weird place romantically. He'd never really had intimate relationships in his life (besides Mandy) and he didn't quite know how to go about them.

"Yeah, whatever," he grumbled, passed the cheese plate back to his sister. "I'm goin' to bed. You should too."

"Night, love you, asshole," Mandy called after him, and Mickey flicked her off as he went to his room.

He was exhausted, as he typically was after his shift, but he couldn't sleep. When he finally fell asleep, he dreamt of Ian's stupid, drunken smile.

Mickey woke up sometime between ten and eleven. He was never a morning person, and so close to a half hour passed before he got up and showered, haphazardly fixing his hair and throwing on a semi-decent shirt. He paused before he put it on- was he really so desperate that he was about to dress nice to go return a pretty stripper's phone? He remembered Ian's smile, and the answer was obvious: yes.

He remembered the way to Ian's apartment well enough (even if he didn't, it was in the phone) and the drive wasn't terribly long.

Before he got out of the car, he stopped, one hand on the door handle. What the fuck was he thinking? Ian probably wouldn't remember him. Even if he did, there was no guarantee he was home. Even if he was, there was no guarantee that he'd want to see Mickey.

Mickey huffed out a breath, and started to buckle his seatbelt back in, before he decided to say fuck it. He was just here to return Ian's phone. It was the nice fucking thing to do.

He got out of his car, Ian's phone in hand, and walked into the small, slightly rundown lobby of the complex. He glanced briefly at the resident list, though he remembered Ian's number clearly.

 _4C: Gallagher_

Gallagher. Mickey felt somewhat enthused by knowing Ian's last name, and he took the elevator straight up to the fourth floor. He walked quickly down the hallway (if he didn't, he would've chickened out) and knocked twice on Ian's front door.

He waited a couple minutes, in which it seemed no one was going to answer. He was disappointed, but not surprised. There was no guarantee Ian was home, anyways, right?

Just when he was about to leave, Ian pulled the door open. His hair was a bit greasy, and falling in his eyes- which were strikingly green. Mickey hadn't noticed before. He was wearing a grey sweater, and a pair of jeans, and Mickey could've died right then and there.

Ian seemed to notice he was staring, and smiled. It wasn't his sloppy drunken one, but still a welcoming smile that tugged at Mickey's heart.

And made him aware that he was staring at Ian.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh, hey," he started awkwardly, "I'm Mickey, I drove you home last night. You left your phone in my car." He held the phone out to Ian, who took it, his smile turning upwards in slight surprise.

"Wow, thanks," Ian replied, "I was wondering where the hell that went. You want to come in?" He stepped aside, gesturing Mickey in the door as if he didn't have a choice.

Mickey had never seen him sober before, and he was starting to think coming here was one of his most brilliant ideas yet. Ian was _nice._ His voice was pretty, he was even more attractive when he was sober, and he wanted Mickey to come inside. Mickey never liked nice guys.

"Yeah, sure." Mickey shrugged, and stepped through the door. Ian's apartment was small, smaller than his own, and full of boxes. "You just move in?" He asked, and Ian nodded his head.

"Yeah," he answered, moved into the kitchen with a weird sort of grace, "A couple days ago. I work so much, I haven't had time to unpack."

Mickey nodded. "I get it," he replied. "I, uh, put my number in your phone. In case you're stuck at work without a ride." 

Ian glanced up in surprise, holding a loaf of bread in one hand. He slowly broke out into a smile, when it seemed Mickey was being genuine. "Thanks," Ian answered, "Hope I'll remember to use it. You drove me home a couple times, right?"

Slightly surprised that he remembered, Mickey nodded, taking a seat on Ian's counter. He didn't have any chairs, and Ian had started placing butter in a pan. "Yeah, twice," he answered, "Surprised you remembered."

Ian laughed, as if he thought it was funny, and Mickey's stomach flipped. Holy shit. He'd probably give his left kidney to hear Ian laugh like that all the time.

"I remembered. I mean, I remember some of it. You punched that guy in the face, right?"

Mickey blinked. He hadn't expected Ian to remember that, seeing how he was basically half conscious during that exchange. "Fuckin' dick," he answered anyways, "You see that guy often?" He hated how he sounded almost territorial, protective over this guy he didn't even know- but he couldn't help it. The thought of drunk assholes taking advantage of Ian irked the shit out of him.

Ian chuckled again. "Wednesday and Friday nights," he replied, "He's a regular. He tips well, but he gets a little handsy sometimes."

Mickey scoffed. A little? The guy was groping Ian in the parking lot. "Yeah, well, you got my number if he bugs you."

Ian smiled softly, placing two slices of bread in the pans. Mickey quickly realized he was making grilled cheese, when he placed cheese and another slice of bread on top of the previous two.

He finished cooking quickly, and slid one onto a paper plate. He either didn't unpack his plates yet, or didn't have any. Mickey didn't mind.

"Thanks," he said, and Ian nodded his head, hopping up on the counter beside Mickey. Mickey took the moment to realize how fucking tall Ian actually was, as he could dangle his legs off the counter a considerable distance from the floor, and it Ian stretched his foot, he could probably touch the floor. He shook his head. "You got some long legs, man."

Ian laughed, taking a bite of his grilled cheese. "Yeah. Helps with the dancing."

Mickey nodded his head, shrugged. "I wouldn't know. I'm uncoordinated as fuck."

He glanced up as he talked, before he started eating, letting the two of them fall into a comfortable silence.


	4. Chapter 4

Mickey spends the rest of the day with Ian.

They eat grilled cheese (Ian's a surprisingly decent cook) and watch some stupid action movie that Ian likes, and Mickey's in far too deep for his liking.

He learns a lot about Ian, too. He's incredibly friendly, for one, and he's always lived in Chicago. He has a family, a fuckload of siblings, but they don't speak much. He likes Jean Claude Van Damme, and Led Zeppelin, and he used to want to join the army. Sometimes he still does. He's twenty-one, and he's been dancing at the club since he was seventeen. Every piece of information goes into a little box in Mickey's heart called 'Ian'. He just likes him more after learning about him.

He doesn't ask about Ian's use of drugs, or how much he drinks. He doesn't want to ruin the perfect picture he's painted in his head.

He tells Ian a little about himself, too: he's always lived in Chicago, too. He doesn't have a family besides his nutjob sister, who lives with him. He's definitely not friendly. He's twenty-three, and he's only been a bouncer for eight months. He likes Black Sabbath, he failed out of high school, and he's got a thing for redheads. The last one makes Ian's face light up with a laugh that goes straight to the box in Mickey's heart.

When nine pm rolls around, Mickey realizes he's been here literally all day long. Ian doesn't seem to mind, as he's swaying his hips to the radio while cooking the both of them dinner.

"I usually don't cook," Ian tells him, pauses his dancing to look up, "But since I've got a guest I thought it'd be nice."

Mickey rolls his eyes so far back it hurts. Ian goes right back to dancing. "You're the weirdest person I've ever met," he tells Ian, who laughs that pretty laugh again, and throws some pasta in a boiling pot.

His phone buzzes, and Mickey grabs it.

 _[4:49] Mandy: are u still with ian its been like four hours_

 _[5:30] Mandy: asshole dont ignore me for your new bf_

 _[8:26] Mandy: mick i s2g u better not be dead or something txt me back_

 _[9:04] Mandy: where tf are u_

He can't help but roll his eyes again.

 _[9:05] Mickey: calm the fuck down. i'm with Ian._

 _[9:05] Mandy: ;)_

He ignores her message in favor of joining Ian in the kitchen.

Sitting up on the counter, he watches Ian cook for a bit.

"You know what you're doing?" He asks, and Ian shrugs.

"What should I put on it?" He asks, and Mickey shrugs this time, taking a glance to Ian's cabinets.

"What do you have?"

"Umm.. nothing?"

Mickey scoffs, but it sounds more like a chuckle.

"Nothing it is."

Ian practically beams. Mickey swears he'd kill to see that smile all the time. It turns Ian into an angel- it's got to be the prettiest thing he's ever seen.

Mickey realizes he's staring a couple moments after Ian does. He knows Ian realizes first because his smile slowly turns into a smirk.

"You like what you see?" Ian asks, and Mickey's face turns red. He doesn't do the whole flirting thing, and the look on Ian's face is far too flirty for him.

He sputters for a minute, before settling on, "Shut up and cook."

Ian laughs out loud, grabbing a strainer (who has a strainer but not pasta sauce?) and pouring the pasta into it over the sink. He grabs two paper plates from the cabinet, and slides pasta onto it for both of them, passing Mickey a plate. He then hops up on the counter beside Mickey, and hands him a fork.

"Enjoy," he grins, "Sorry I don't have any sauce."

Mickey snorts, and takes a bite. "That's alright," he answers, "You gotta have dinner with us sometime, we got everything."

He realizes what he's said when Ian looks at him like he just offered him the moon. "Yeah, definitely," he responds, "Your sister sounds cool, anyways."

Mickey rolls his eyes, keeps eating. "She's not cool," he replies, and Ian laughs.

They eat, and another hour or so passes before Mickey decides he ought to leave. He doesn't want to- he likes Ian's company, perhaps a bit too much. It's weird for him, since he doesn't like a lot of people (besides Mandy) and he finds himself wanting to spend more and more time with Ian. Problem is, Ian's impossible to read. He's so friendly that Mickey isn't even sure if he's like this with everyone, or if something's actually going on between them.

"See you at work?" Ian asks, as he heads out the door.

Mickey nods, "Yeah, working day after tomorrow. You need a ride, you got my number, yeah?"

Ian grins at him, walks Mickey out to the shithole of a lobby. "Yeah," he nods, "Thanks."

With that, Mickey's off. His drive home is short, but his mind is running faster than his car. He _likes_ Ian, and it's freaking him out just a little. Or a lot. He isn't supposed to like people, and people aren't supposed to like him. That's how it's always been.

When he gets home, Mandy is waiting for him on the couch again. He flops down beside her, and steals half her poptart. His phone buzzes, and he pulls it out to check it, ignoring the prying eyes of his sister.

 _[10:46] Unknown: thx for coming. i swear i'll have pasta sauce next time._

He smiles at his phone, and Mandy shoves his shoulder. He ignores her to save Ian's contact as 'Red', and to text him back quickly.

 _[10:46] Mickey: no problem, Red, liked hanging out with you_

 _[10:47] Red: awww. i knew bringing my phone back was just an excuse_

 _[10:48] Mickey: shut the fuck up, i wasn't planning to stay that long_

 _[10:49] Red: i drew u in with my charm_

 _[10:49] Mickey: nah, it was the grilled cheese_

 _[10:50] Red: sure it wasn't my sauceless pasta?_

 _[10:51] Mickey: that too._

 _[10:53] Mickey: night_

 _[10:53] Red: sleeping so early?_

 _[10:54] Mickey: this is a normal time to sleep. not my fault you never sleep._

 _[10:55] Red: who needs sleep?_

 _[11:00] Red: night mickey, see you at work_


	5. Chapter 5

_Tuesday:_

 _[12:34] Mickey: we still on for today?_

 _Wednesday:_

 _[3:46] Mickey: you got the plague or something?_

 _[8:28] Mickey: yo, you ever gonna pick up?_

 _Thursday:_

 _[3:34] Mickey: yo, red, if i did something to you, I'm sorry._

They text almost every day for a week. Mickey drives to the club twice for the sole reason of picking Ian up, and he hangs around Ian's apartment for hours after.

After that, Ian disappears off the face of the earth. He stops answering Mickey's texts, he won't answer the phone, and on Friday, he doesn't show up to work.

Mickey's pissed, and then he's worried. He finds the manager after his shift on Friday, and knocks twice on her door.

"Yo, hey," he starts, "Ian, is he supposed to be here?"

She looks confused for a minute. "Gallagher?"

Mickey nods, waves his hand to move the conversation along. "Yeah, Gallagher, Ian. He scheduled for today?"

She nods her head dismissively. "He didn't show up."

Mickey groans in frustration, "I know that. You know why?"

His manager shakes her head, and looks unconcerned, turning back to her papers. "He does this sometimes."

Mickey's irritation is clear on his face. _He does this sometimes? What kinda answer was that? She didn't even know why?_

"Nobody checks up on him?" Mickey asks, folds both his arms over his chest.

She huffs out a breath, and shoots him a look. "He's my employee, Mickey, not my child. If you would like to check up on him, feel free to do so."

He feels like an idiot, swinging the door shut behind him. Up to this point, he decided he's far too prideful to show up to Ian's house, but he's got to know what's wrong with him. He decides to go in the morning, and drives himself home.

Mandy's up and waiting for him, munching on a bag of chips. "You see Ian tonight?" She asks curiously, and Mickey scowls, plopping himself down on the couch beside Mandy.

"No."

Mandy raises her eyebrows. "He didn't go to work?"

"No."

"Maybe you should go check on him."

Mickey looks more and more irritated as Mandy keeps talking. He feels a bit like Ian's blowing him off, even if they've been doing nothing but getting closer. He thought they had a good thing going, and then he stopped hearing from him. He can't shake the feeling that something's wrong.

"Yeah, I'm going tomorrow," he mumbled, and Mandy practically grinning at him.

"Shove off," he said, and went to bed.

The next morning, Mickey woke before his alarm. He showered, and threw on a decently nice shirt, though he didn't know why he bothered. Ian clearly didn't want to hear from him.

The shithole lobby let Mickey up without looking at him twice. He knew the way up to Ian's apartment by heart now, with how many times he'd dropped Ian off up there.

He knocked twice on the door, though he didn't know why he bothered. Ian clearly wasn't going to answer. Minutes passed by before he tried the door. It was unlocked, so he both cursed and thanked Ian for being so unsafe. Nobody should leave their door unlocked in this area.

He let himself in, despite telling himself how fuckin' creepy it was, and cleared his throat loudly.

"Yo, Ian?" He called.

Nothing in Ian's apartment had been unpacked since the last time Mickey was here. More than that, nothing looked like it'd been touched since Mickey was here.

He had a weird feeling about this. He thought maybe Ian wasn't here, before he ducked back into Ian's room.

Ian was curled up in his bed, the blankets covering every part of him except a tuff of red hair poking out the top. Mickey frowned, hovered in the doorway. "Hey," he greeted quietly, and Ian didn't move.

"You didn't answer any of my calls," he continued awkwardly, stepping in the room. They're close enough for this to not be weird, right? He figures he's seen Ian at his most fucked up, and more than that, he's seen him sober, so this isn't weird.

Ian still doesn't respond, so Mickey sits next to him on the bed. "I got worried about you," he continued, and Ian curled slightly into Mickey. He's mildly surprised, but figures Ian's sick or something. He's never seen him like this, anyway, and he isn't sure what to do.

He brushes Ian's hair back gently from his eyes, and the look on his face makes Mickey's hands still, and his heart drop.

The look on his face is the look Mickey's mother used to wear, before she died. It was the look she got when Terry was terrible. It was the look she got before he found her overdosed in the bathtub.

He lays down quietly beside Ian, on his side so he can look him in the eyes.

"You doing okay?" He asks softly, and Ian's eyes well up with tears.

Ian slowly shakes his head, and Mickey's partially relieved to get a response.

"Sad?" He asks, and Ian nods his head. It all pieces together- why he hasn't been calling by, why he's skipping work. Ian isn't avoiding him, he's sad. Mickey feels bad for assuming, and he feels bad for Ian.

"Alright, c'mere," he mumbles, opening his arms up. Ian's receptive, and he snuggles up into Mickey's arms, gently closing his eyes. Mickey runs his hands through Ian's hair, and pulls him close.

He stays like that long enough for both of them to fall asleep, Ian still curled up in his arms.


End file.
